Home's Wherever You Are
by BlackBandit111
Summary: Sam needed the comfort of it sometimes- the familiarity that, wherever he went, he was home. Set in Mousme's Fusion 'verse. No slash, oneshot.


_Hey Supernatural fandom! So this oneshot is based off of Mousme's Fusion 'verse and, if you haven't read it, you'll pretty much be confused for this whole story._

_So, DEBRIEFING TIME: In this 'verse set between Season 5 and Season 6, Sam and Dean have retired from hunting because Sam has gone crazy. Dean's knee has finally crapped out on him and the doctors said that he couldn't fix it so they fused the bones together. His leg is completely immobile; he can't bend it. He gets around with the help of his service dog Perry (who makes an appearance here but isn't a huge part). _

_That's all you really need to know and I hope you enjoy! (Also if you haven't read Fusion you should really go and do so because it's amazing)_

* * *

Sam didn't do it all the time, but when he did disappear he knew that Dean worried. He couldn't help it- sometimes the lights would get too bright and the screams too loud and the voices too strong and he had to just...get away from wherever it was he'd been. Sometimes even rubbing his palm didn't help on the bad days, and that was when he'd find himself lost, not sure-_ what level what level what level have to get to Dean-**  
**_

But it was also in these times that he'd somehow force himself to lucidity, clawing his way to the surface of his thoughts and desperately battling the pull of the dark, spindly hands of his memories trying to tug him back under. It was these times when he'd try to remember Cas and Bobby and Dean and Jo and Ellen and Jess and all the other people he'd ever cared about. They helped sometimes.

And he knew Dean worried- Dean was a mother hen about everything, but he always worried about Sam especially- and sometimes this bothered him because who was he to be a burden to his already overloaded, guilt-ridden brother?

But then he'd think and remind himself that Dean probably had those same thoughts every day too. That was one idea that he didn't need to write down.

So sometimes he'd go where he remembered- and sometimes he wouldn't. Sometimes remembering hurt too bad…

But sometimes so did forgetting.

So it was here Sam found himself this time, lying mostly supine across the Impala's front seats, his legs curled up under him to account for his tall height. It was easy to forget about his troubles here in the familiar folds of the Impala's interior; the stained ceiling; the smell of leather clinging to the seats; the old stereo system still working. When he opened the glove compartment, he saw the always present tapes that Dean had collected over the years, and his fingers itched to touch one and take it out and play it, but then the lights flashed and he was forced to shield his face and cover his ears as the screaming returned.

Sucking in a breath, he dug his nose into the back rests of the seats, the scent of leather and Dean and Cas and even his father, even after all the time he'd been gone, assaulting the lights and dimming them slightly, reminding Sam where he was.

The memory hit him so suddenly that he he found a smile quirking the corners of his lips as he pictured Dean, in all his eight year old glory, playing army men with Sammy in the back seat as his father refilled the Impala's gas tank.

There was a small noise- a click- as the Impala was unlocked again (had he locked it? He couldn't remember- he forgot to write it down) and then a small relieved sigh as somehow slid their leg under his head, another hand coming to rest in the center of his chest. He curled further as the lights grew brighter, a whimper escaping his mouth.

There was a small snuffling on the top of his head and something gently moving his long hair- "down, Perry-" and then it was gone, and he dug his face into Dean's plaid shirt and inhaled the familiar, comforting scent of his brother.

"Alright-y there Sammy," Dean said quietly, and Sam became distantly aware through the screams and the light that Dean was stroking his fingers through Sam's hair, "it's all good, dude."

"Dean." He wasn't sure if it was a question or a plead.

"Sammy." Steady. Unwavering. Soothing.

"Dean." Quivering.

"Sammy." _I'm still here. I'm not leaving. You're not there; you're here with me. I'm fine, you're fine. We're all fine. We're safe._

"Dean."_ Help me. I don't know what to do. I can't see- what level?_

"Sammy." _No levels here. Just me and you._

"Dean."_ I'm scared. I'm lost. What- where- what level?_

"Sammy."_ I'm here, you're here. We're home._

And Sam figured he'd stay a while.

**...**

Sam didn't do it all the time, but he knew that when he did, Dean worried. Dean was always worrying nowadays- about normal things for once, like taxes and food and what they'd have for dinner that night (but Dean was always eager to eat any sort of food, so he really needed to take that off his list).

When he did do it though, he knew Dean worried, and Sam felt bad that he caused his brother further stress. He tried not to let it happen- the good days were good- he could remember things without writing them down mostly, and remembered the way home, and could talk to people and hold conversations. The good days were good.

But the bad days were bad.

Which was why he found himself curled up in the front seats of the Impala, his arm looped through the steering wheel as his fingers rubbed at his palm tirelessly. What level was he on again?

"What- where-"

The lights were too bright and he could hear it, hear the screams and Lucifer laughing and the sickened scoffs of Michael and Adam's shrill cries for help as the lights grew brighter-

_What level what level what level what level-_

Something on his shoulder- pressure- grounding him-

_What level WHAT LEVEL-_

"No levels here, Sammy," came the gruff voice of someone he knew well, "no levels. Just me an' you and Perry." A small snuffle on his hand; a twitch of fingers. "Down, girl. There y'are sweetheart."

And the lights sort of dulled a bit and the screams got more distant and he could actually concentrate, and he tried to remember all the good times in the Impala; the stake outs, the drives. The playtimes and the solemn times where they'd sit atop her hood and think.

"'Member when," he started, his words slurring and disjointed, "you stuck a...spoon...in m' mouth?"

Dean gave a small snort from above him, and Sam dug his face harder into Dean's midsection. "Yeah, bitch, I remember. You were asleep. God- that was years ago, Sammy."

"Mm," Sam agreed. "I 'member that. And- and then I glued your hand t' a beer bottle."

Another breathless laugh, and the fingers running through his hair seemed to grow softer something in recollection. "Yeah. But we're here and now, right?"

Sam gave an affirmative nod, the voices fading to the back of his mind and becoming background noise once again. He figured that he could try to stay a while and make some new memories like that.

**...**

Sam didn't do it all the time, but he knew that when he did, Dean worried. Now, Dean worried an awful lot about a lot of things, and Sam felt guilty that he had to be one of them. Dean always said that he'd worry about Sam anyways because Sam was younger and therefore it was Dean's responsibility to worry, but Sam knew better. He may not have been there all the time, but he certainly wasn't stupid.

He couldn't- he- well- he didn't know what level he was on anymore because he'd taken a wrong turn and lost Adam, and he'd gotten caught in some hooks a little while back so he was pretty torn up, and- what level was this? He had to find out so he knew how close he was- what level?

And then he'd realized that it was a pretty strange level, because he found himself staring up at the ceiling of the Impala from one of her front seats. And he was curled up and his feet were numb.

And his head was under someone's thigh.

"You with me yet, Sammy?" There was a pause but Sam couldn't muster the strength to respond, and then the voice continued. "That's okay. It's all good, Sam. You'll come back to me and we'll watch _Die Hard_ again, yeah? You just can't steal all the popcorn this time or fall asleep early again, bitch, because I don't want to have to make more or run to the grocery store just to appease your-"

"D'n." It was strangled and his mouth was dry and he really, really needed a drink, but no one every called him 'bitch' except for his brother, so it had to be him.

"Sammy! Welcome back. You good?"

"What- uh- em- what level is this?"

A small sigh. A hand stroking through his hair. "No levels here, Sammy. Just you and me."

"Dean?"

"Sammy."

"Dean?" _Are you going to stay?_

"Sammy."_ I never left._

"D-Dean." _No but- are you going to stay?_

"Sam."_ I never left and I'm not planning on leaving now._

"Dean." _Are we safe?_

"We're home, Sammy. You're always safe with me."

"Dean?"

"Bitch." _We are home, but I will follow you wherever you go to find it._

"Jerk." _Home is wherever you are._

* * *

_Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it and please leave me a comment on your thoughts!_


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